Chapter Text
Seven a.m found him in front of the door to Pritchard’s office, stomach twisted into a tight, nervous ball. A few other staff members had trickled in through the lobby, mostly scientists eager to get down to the cafeteria in the labs for their early morning caffeine fix, but no one walked past him as he stood there, no one wondered why he kept rubbing the back of his neck or shuffling forwards and backwards.
Come on. Coward.
He took one long, deep breath, and opened the door.
Pritchard perused the bookcase opposite, back to him, several strands of hair escaping the ruffled ponytail. Wireless earphones peeked out from Pritchard’s ears, and since his entrance wasn’t met with flustered squawking – “Jensen, get out of here, I’m not nearly ready to entertain you today,” probably – safe to assume the music masked the click of the door.
A roll of white-shirt-covered shoulder,s and Pritchard sighed. He froze, but couldn’t stop his gaze wandering downwards. Black pants today. Tight black pants.
Pritchard selected a book off the shelf, ponytail swinging merrily away, one of those thick spider-killers about cybernetics, and turned, eyes on the cover of the book.
He almost took a step back, almost thought some stranger had wandered in by mistake. Thin black wire-framed glasses rested on Pritchard’s nose, the ends of the frame tucked into brown hair. Behind them, Pritchard’s grey eyes looked bigger, owlish, softened some premature lines. Taking into account the white shirt, he could have stumbled upon some book store owner ready to take stock.
The swift jolt right between his legs surprised him nearly as much as the glasses. He took one step forward, and Pritchard looked up, eyes wide, mouth open to splutter some protest. A hand came up, yanked the glasses away in an angry, embarrassed motion. Too hard. They fell, tumbled through the air –
Landed in his palm.
He didn’t realise how fast he’d reacted until he straightened, the glasses loose between his fingers. Not a scratch on them.
“These things are expensive.” He took a step forward, dangled them between his thumb and fingertip. “You shouldn’t be throwing them away like that, Francis.”
Pritchard’s glare held all the warmth of a glacier. Arms wrapped around the book, pressed it tight against Pritchard’s chest as though he’d tried to take it away. Red blotched cheeks. “What are you doing in here, Jensen?”
“Saving your glasses, obviously.” He held them out, but Pritchard shrank back. “What, don’t want them anymore? Don’t you need them to see?”
“I only need them when I’ve stared at the screen too long. Why is that any of your concern? Give them back, then – or why don’t you throw them away? Isn’t that what people like you do to people like me?”
He held his arms out to the side in a ‘what the hell’ gesture. “'Thank you, Jensen, thank you for saving my expensive glasses instead of letting them break on the ground.’ You could have said that instead of being weird.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered.” An anxious glance back down at the glasses betrayed those words. Did Pritchard really think he would throw them away? Jesus, that was sad.
He bent the ends of the frame out. “Can I?”
“Can you what?”
Some more stray hairs had trembled themselves in front of Pritchard’s face. He brushed them away with the back of his hand, tried not to linger, tried not to notice the parting of Pritchard’s lips when he tucked the longer hairs behind an ear. Gently, he perched the glasses back on the slope of a nose, fed the ends of the frame back where they belonged.
Pritchard blinked up at him, apparently lost for words, for once. Once those eyes met his, they skittered away to safety beyond his shoulder. Hands clenched the book harder. Lips still parted, so he disguised his step away as an examination of the way the glasses sat on Pritchard’s face. “They look good on you.”
Red muted to a soft blush, but Pritchard’s gaze remained firmly elsewhere.
Turning his back hid his smile. “Try not to drop them again, I might not be here next time to save them. Or maybe I will. Up to you.”
He closed the door behind him with a gentle click. The smile wouldn’t remove itself from his face. Definitely should turn up early more often.